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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27870309">I'll Be Home With You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberrywars/pseuds/blackberrywars'>blackberrywars</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>According to Spotify, As the top .1 percent of Hozier listeners, But he's there in spirit, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, If you consider death comforting, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by a Hozier Song, It's In A Week, Top Aiden (The Witcher), Written to honor my status, no beta we die like renfri, not really - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:14:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,005</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27870309</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberrywars/pseuds/blackberrywars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In A Week by Hozier but added witchers and lesbian laiden. So many of my favorite things in just one sentence.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'll Be Home With You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lambert can’t move her legs. Not that she tries particularly hard, but she gives both feet a go at flexing, because she always told herself she wouldn’t go out easy. There’s nothing for it. When she tries to roll left from her hips, nothing happens and she might let out a tiny sigh. Waist down, there may well be nothing at all left of her, though she lacks both the strength and the motivation to lift her head up and check. The grass beneath her cheek is soft and green and wet with blood. Something lands over her right eye, and she can make out the spotted brown underside of a butterfly’s wing. With the left, she watches Aiden.</p>
<p>That yellow-green eye is dull and empty, nothing like the shining peridot gems Jaskier once compared them to. Dark brows rest on the same plane, for once, instead of half-cocked at Lambert for once reason another. Her thick lower eyelashes brush her cheek, and Lambert can just barely see the one that always turns upward, forever stuck in her lover’s eye. Whenever she saw it, Lambert would press herself as close to Aiden as she could manage to comb it back into place with the rest. She never plucked it. In those moments, she didn’t wish for anything she didn’t already have in her arms. When she finished, Aiden winked a few times to be sure she’d gotten it out of the way, and Lambert would kiss that soft, unscarred brown eyelid. Then, the other. After all these years, the ruined skin had faded. Now, the bloody, raw purple stitches had given way to shiny, discolored white scars, but had never fully disappeared. Her eyepatch —a navy blue silk thing, because no matter how much she denied it, Aiden was vain—  went on only afterwards. It pushed her thick, dark brown curls all to one side, like it was now. They swayed and bounced on the wind path over her forehead, as full of life as Aiden wasn’t.</p>
<p>Somehow, Lambert can’t be sad about it. </p>
<p>Her shoulder aches faintly where the royal wyvern had torn it out, but the pain barely registers anymore. All Lambert can remember is that morning —Aiden had sunk her own canines into the same shoulder, driving into her hard while Lambert pulled at her hair and tried not to whimper. The Cat had pulled away with two slick sounds. Smiling down at Lambert, she had licked the bite before mashing her lips against it and falling asleep. Lambert had chuckled softly. She had given Aiden incessant shit for it later, and Aiden had just renewed the bite, faded already by the afternoon. With the sun rising again, the deep gashes must have leaked all the blood in her body out into the dirt, in between the few strings of flesh still holding her arm to the socket. If Lambert focuses, she can feel them throb in time with her slowing heartbeat. </p>
<p>She wonders who will find them, and when. Maybe one of the townspeople would investigate in a few hours, wondering why the witchers hadn’t come back —but that was fucking stupid. Probably, they would want to make sure they hadn’t been stiffed when they asked for half the pay upfront. More likely still, they wouldn’t come near the field, would maybe find them in a week, led by the stench of their corpses on a warm spring day. If they were lucky, the people would burn or bury the two corpses they saw. If they were luckier, they wouldn’t find them at all. She and Aiden would get to lay there and rot in peace until nothing but flowers remained of them. In a handful of years, some child playing in the valley grass might find their bones in the dirt, a Cat and Wolf side by side. Might luck a wildflower and pull out their medallions. They’d surely be misidentified —Aiden wore Lambert’s medallion and Lambert wore hers.  </p>
<p>Against her cooling flesh, the morning sun warms the earth and paints the sky in colors Lambert’s never seen. The butterfly perched on her eye slowly closes and opens its wings, and there’s peach and lavender and buttercup yellow and all the myriad colors Geralt’s bard went on and on about. Beside her, Aiden hasn’t moved an inch, though Lambert doesn’t think she’d be able to tell either way. Other bugs will follow. Flies and worms and insects of all kinds will make a feast of them, unless the wyvern manages to wake from her own sleep to pick at them first, and Lambert doubts she will.</p>
<p>Supposedly, the females were meant to be smaller. This one hadn’t gotten the message, having apparently grown enough in size to rival a small hill. She still had the extra venom and cunning, though, not to mention eggs and hatchlings in her den. With that power and motivation, they had been fools to try and corner her. All of them were paying for it now. Aiden had burnt the whelps quickly after Lambert cut them off with a rockpile, courtesy of a well-placed bomb. She finished just in time for the wyvern queen to crash through the barrier. Screeching murder, the mother beast spewed venom at Aiden. The Cat shrieked hell. The venom doused her exposed arms and crawled under her leathers, the price for her stupid armor choices. It left Aiden screaming and running outside for their bags to wash it off with White Gull and Lambert screaming as she tried to cover her and the wyvern screaming for their heads. By the time Lambert beheaded the creature, Aiden had curled up in the grass, having stopped writhing. She was so <em>tired</em>.</p>
<p>If someone found them, they’d find what the scavengers left. Insects, buzzards, foxes, and necrophages would strip the flesh from their bodies and grind their bones into dust. They’d rot in this field and feed the world as soon as the black raven called them to sleep, called them home together.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In case I haven't implied it, I fucking love Laiden and I fucking love Hozier. Mixing the two seemed like a great idea. New fic writer, so any comments are not only welcome, but needed.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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